Steadfast Heart
by Sentimental Star
Summary: **COMPLETE** This, this was the hardest part about being a younger brother, the worst part about being the younger king...--Brotherfic. Moviebased.-- --SPOILERS--
1. A Brother and a King

**WARNING #1:** If you have not yet had the chance to see the new movie _The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian_ and do not wish for it to be spoiled, wait until you see it before reading on! I repeat, **SPOILERS**, ahoy!

**WARNING #2:** It also occurs to me that I should probably warn you to have a box of tissues well at hand if you're easily reduced to tears. This will be three chapters of angsty, sappy, messy, emotional moments and I'll do my darnedest to make them count.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Hi, all! This is a request-fic for _**CoveredInGlitter**_—Edmund's thoughts, feelings, and actions during the single combat between his older brother and Miraz—Movieverse style. I've seen the movie once (mixed feelings on that, although certainly, there were points—like this one, actually—that I really loved), and had intended to wait until I could see it again to write this fic, but well…those plot-bunnies bite hard :winks:. On an aside, many of you will be happy to know I have completely revised certain portions of _Nighttime Demons_ (and posted them, so go have a look!) and am now currently aiming to get out the fourteenth chapter as soon as possible. At any rate, please enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ And this, this is the hardest part about being a younger brother, the worst part about being the younger king…(Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**Memories/Personal Thoughts**_

_Steadfast Heart_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter One: A Brother and a King_

(Four Hours Before Single Combat)

There are certain advantages to being a younger brother. For one, you get away with things that usually leave your older brother sputtering in indignation (and trust me, Peter is quite amusing when he's flustered). For another, people will underestimate you—and when your older brother needs that element of surprise on his side, it's all the more advantageous.

Of course, there are other perks, too, especially when you are the younger of two kings. You are never quite so old that you can't sneak into your older brother's hammock when you're cold. You don't attend boring political functions because you are needed elsewhere for small diplomatic matters. You are never in the front line of a battle because, of course, you aren't the _High_ King and you're far too precious to your older brother (who, incidentally, _is_ the High King) to be stationed in the direct line of fire. You won't usually die because that same need to protect usually spurs your infuriatingly self-sacrificing older brother into situations where he nearly _dies_ half the time trying to keep you, your sisters, and your subjects safe. Unless it is a tournament you are not involved in single combat because you can't _stand_ the thought of…

_Damn it, _Peter!!

I drop my head between my legs and dangling arms where I sit scrunched up in one of the many torch-lit corridors of Aslan's How, sucking in several sharp gulps of air as I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears burning at the back of my eyes. Wonderful, I'm hyperventilating.

"King Edmund?"

Definite Telmarine accent with a hint of Narnian working its way through. Caspian.

Doubly wonderful, I'm panicking in front of the last person I should be panicking in front _of_.

A hesitant hand rests on my shoulder.

A gasping sob shakes my frame as I struggle to control my breathing.

Silence a moment, then, "…You are worried for your brother, aren't you? His skills with a sword are not what the Chronicles say they are?"

Red. On the bright side, I can actually breathe again.

I snap my head up to glare at him where he crouches in front of me. "The High King's skills were legendary in our time. I assure you, your Highness, the Chronicles do not exaggerate them."

Inwardly, I wince at how cold my voice is. I truly do not want to antagonize Caspian more than Peter has already—or did, anyway; I think he's finally decided to quit being a blockhead and trust in the will of Aslan, and, perhaps equally important, to trust in Caspian.

Truthfully, I think if Caspian learns how to become a good leader (a lesson Peter has had to re-learn here), he will become a good king, as well. Perhaps more than good. He has the potential to usher in a new Golden Age, and we were the ones called to help him.

I know we weren't exactly welcoming to him, and Peter was an ass, but I like to think my brother has remembered what it _means_ to be a king of Narnia; therefore, I do not take insults directed at him lightly. Especially when they are false.

Caspian surprises me. He smiles slightly, "Then why do you doubt them? You worry, yes, but with skills such as his, he is more than a match for my uncle."

I blink at him, utterly unable to come up with an answer to that and secretly grateful for the reassurance.

He catches me off-guard when he chuckles at my apparent inability to speak, "And here I had heard stories of how King Edmund the Just was a master diplomat."

He's teasing me. I can't believe it. He's _teasing_ me.

I give a rather wet snort, liking him more already, and swipe at my damp cheeks. "Really? They must have failed to mention certain cheeky princes who came charging in to save our kingdom."

I am pleased to see him blush slightly. Seems he's learned a lesson in humility, too. "I do not know if I can live up to you and your brother and sisters," he admits softly.

Strangely, I am compelled to reassure him. "You don't have to, Caspian," I reply. "Ours was a different time, a different Narnia. Trumpkin is right—it is a more savage place than the one we remember, the one we served. How can you live up to what we did, when it is so different now? You have held the Narnians together, and you have called us here to help. I think that says something about how much you are willing to give for our people. Now you need to learn how to let go."

It is true, Caspian has enormous potential…but he must learn that mercy is for those who would give it, and revenge is not the path to fulfillment, however motivating a factor it may be.

And with an uncle like his, that is going to be doubly hard.

He is quiet a moment, processing that, before asking very, very softly, "And did you learn that, King Edmund?"

I grimace sadly, shaking my head. "Yes, but not very readily. I had to, or half the battles we won as kings would not have ended as happily," I press my lips together, "as they did."

Caspian shifts to sit beside me on the earthen floor, dropping his hand from my shoulder and resting his wrists on his knees as he gazes straight ahead at one of the carvings on the wall.

Ironically, it is the one that depicts me shattering Jadis's wand.

"Were you scared?" the question is sudden, and throws me until I realize he's asking about the moment the carving across from us depicts.

I snort faintly. "Absolutely terrified," I inform him without hesitation. "That, as you know, was my first battle. And I could barely lift my sword, let alone use it, but, well…fighting for your life does tend to teach you skills far faster than you can ever dream of—_that_ I'm also sure you know."

His half-choked laugh let's me know in no uncertain terms that he does.

"I'm not sure what the Chronicles say about that battle, or what Doctor Cornelius may have told you about it, but the reason I was idiotic enough to race head on to face the Witch was not because of some misplaced sense of heroism, although Peter may say different--"

Caspian softly interrupts me, "You did it to save your brother…didn't you?"

I whip around to stare at him, jaw slightly slack. Precious few people outside my siblings and I know exactly _why_ I charged Jadis that day at Beruna—Oreius, Tumnus, Philip, the Beavers, all of whom are dead. Aslan, whom Lucy and Susan will set out to search for at any moment; our close friends from Archenland—Cor, Corin, Aravis, King Lune, who also are gone.

But no one else. I doubt there was any way for it to get into the Chronicles. So to find that _Caspian_ knows…it's a bit disconcerting.

He shrugs, smiling sheepishly. "It was not so hard to guess when I see how you interact with your brother."

I smile weakly. "We've often been told that."

Caspian nods. "There are pictures of you two in battle on the walls here. They always show you side by side." He hesitates a minute, and then seems to gather up his courage to ask, "What is it like?"

"Hmm?"

"Having a brother…what is it like?"

I have to grin. "Annoying."

It startles a true laugh out of him. "I can see how it might be. Especially when your brother is High King Peter?"

"Oh, Aslan, yes. He can be incredibly dense, _always_ overly noble, ridiculously self-sacrificing, and I…" Dear Aslan, my voice…! It's cracking. Ruthlessly, I quash down a sudden sob, "…I can't imagine my life without him."

He gives me a very startled look for that, and as I bend down to rest my forehead on my arms, fighting tears with every ounce of my strength, I can tell he's trying to reconcile the image I've given him of my brother with the image that was presented to him when we first met.

Finally, he speaks, hesitantly, as if ashamed, "I…I think I can see that now. I did not want to before, but now--"

"Caspian," it's my turn to interrupt him, and I do so hastily, raising my head, before he can blame himself anymore for how he behaved. I know just how self-destructive it can be. "The Peter you met when we first arrived is not the Peter you know now. Yes, perhaps, things could have gone smoother, but that Peter was _not_ High King Peter; that was Peter, a twenty-eight-year-old forced back into a fourteen-year-old schoolboy body. None of us took the transition between Narnia and our first world very well, Peter least of all. The entire time we were here, before we met you, after we met you, during the night raid on Miraz's castle, just after it…that was Peter trying to do everything on his own, trying to make it right again, and it was vastly out of his ability to do so until he put all that aside and trusted in Aslan." I sigh and bow my head, rubbing the back of my neck and muttering under my breath, "Just as I have to trust Aslan will arrive before anything happens to Peter."

Caspian's hand goes on my shoulder again as he kneels in front of me. "You love him very much." It is not so much a question as it is a statement.

I groan and lean my head down even more. "More than the breath in my body."

Caspian does not receive a chance to reply to that as two sets of quiet footfalls head our way along the corridor. Even without looking up I know who they belong to.

Peter rounds the corner with Doctor Cornelius behind him and pulls up short when he catches sight of me practically in tears on the floor. "Ed?" a note of well-concealed panic creeps into his tone.

That's my wonderfully irritating older brother—overprotective to the last, especially of me.

His quick footsteps cross the rest of the distance between us and then his warm hand is on my left shoulder as he crouches down in front of me, worried blue eyes raking over my bowed head. Yes, I know that with my eyes closed.

Caspian stands, but doesn't move away immediately. I feel him studying me intently before he turns to my brother, "You are very lucky," he tells him softly.

I feel myself blush, and pray Peter doesn't notice.

He shoots Caspian a startled, bewildered look.

Caspian probably just smiles at him. Then he turns to me. "I take my leave of you, King Edmund."

And I finally raise my head, opening my eyes to smile faintly up at him as he sweeps into a bow. "Edmund, Caspian," I respond with a slightly thick chuckle, as I usually do to subjects who are also my friends (although, certainly, he isn't a subject). "Just Edmund."

He gives me a bright grin when he realizes that I now consider him an equal. "Edmund, then."

He sketches a second bow and turns to go, intent on joining Doctor Cornelius who has stopped a respectful distance away from the three of us, when Peter stops him with a hand on his arm.

I am absurdly pleased to see my brother smile at Caspian, and to see Caspian, after a startled second, to smile hesitantly, almost shyly, back. "You'll find Queen Susan and Queen Lucy searching for a horse in the stabling area. I think you will be able to help them far better than I." He turns a great deal more serious, and intently meets Caspian's eyes. "I meant what I said after the Council, Caspian. We are not here to take your place, but to put you into it. I am only sorry I did not think to do this before."

And that is every bit the High King speaking. I don't think I have ever been prouder of my brother.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"What do you think of him, Ed?"

Caspian and Doctor Cornelius are gone. There is only the two of us here now. And as Peter settles down beside me on the dirt floor, I know he wants my honest assessment of Caspian. He has always trusted me in matters such as this, and I am incredibly grateful he has finally asked me now, "He will make a good king, Peter," I tell him truthfully. "I believe Aslan will approve. Narnia is in capable hands."

A small smile touches his lips as I watch him and he shakes his head faintly. "Incredible," he murmurs, looking down at his hands.

I raise an eyebrow. "Peter?" the one-word question hangs between us.

He raises his head…and smiles fondly at me. "You. You're incredible." The smile turns wistful as he reaches out to smooth his hand over my forehead. "You never doubted for a moment and you've been far more of a king than I on this trip."

I blush. "Peter--" I try to protest. Obviously, he isn't aware of how utterly _terrified_ I am that things will go wrong, that I'll lose him—after just finding him again—before Aslan arrives.

His hand gently slides down the side of my face to cover my mouth, cutting me off. "Fear is not the same as doubt, Ed. You taught me that." He smiles again. "Even if you haven't quite learned it yourself."

I grimace lightly at him. When his hand drops away, I mutter, "I never thought I'd be grateful for the day when you nagged me."

His smile saddens. "I'm sorry," he offers simply. "I haven't been a very good older brother lately, have I?"

I'm left reeling. Where is this _coming_ from? This is a Peter I haven't seen since our first time in Narnia. And as much as I hate to admit it's true…"Pete," I reply cautiously, "yes, you were an ass, but I always knew that you would come to your senses sooner or later."

His face, I am alarmed to note, tightens in sheer agony as he reaches out to cup my face in his hands, and then laces them together behind my head, gently yanking me closer to him. "I…I just wish I hadn't been so late. Or received them in such a way."

I look into his eyes—blue, stormy, tormented—and know he's thinking of absolutely everything he has done wrong this trip…and what their cost has been.

"I should never have left Caspian alone with Nikabrik. I should never have insisted on raiding Miraz's castle. I should have listened to Caspian, to you, to Lucy. Then maybe they'd…" His voice catches and he can't complete his litany.

The hands he has placed on the back of my head slide down to my neck and then my shoulders, before his arms suddenly engulf me and pull me flush to his chest.

He is shaking as he clings to me.

A droplet of wet warmth falls onto my neck.

_Oh._

His head drops onto my chest and a second tear follows.

_Oh, Peter_…

I have to say something.

Moving my arms from where they are pressed between us, I circle one arm tightly around his back and use my other hand to stroke his hair. "Should have, would have, could have…Peter, _everyone_ makes mistakes," my voice catches as several more tears fall onto my neck from Peter's eyes, and I know I'm silently crying, too. "Ours are just more costly than others because we are kings. It's cold comfort, but we've lived with that knowledge our entire lives. And how do you know something worse wouldn't have happened?" At the shaky sob into my chest, I firm my hold on him. "You _don't _know, Peter. And that's what makes it all right."

His voice breaks when he speaks. "I should have trusted in Aslan."

"Yes, you should have," I acknowledge as gently as I know how. He winces against me but does not pull away. "But you do now, Peter, and so, you always will. I _know_ you, Pete—you never make the same mistake twice. I have full faith in that."

_I have full faith in __**you**__._

But I don't tell him that. I've never been able to, really. I just hope my actions can speak for me.

The strangled (albeit slightly muffled) chuckle that rises from my chest startles me a little. "Caspian was right," he murmurs against me, then raises his head. He leans over to nuzzle my cheek, cracking a smile. "I am _insanely_ lucky to have you."

If I wasn't blushing before, I certainly am now. "You're welcome, Peter," I manage to whisper.

A smile against my cheek and then he pulls back, swallowing and dropping his eyes from my face as his thoughts take a darker turn. I tense, knowing what is coming next, but do not release my death-grip on his shoulders.

Reaching out, he tenderly places a hand on my heart and gently starts rubbing it. His voice is terribly quiet when he next speaks, "This duel has every chance of going sour, Ed. You know that don't you?"

My throat seizes. This is _not_ something I want to talk about.

I can only nod.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself and finally glances up, every single thing he is thinking and feeling at this moment displayed for me to read in his eyes. "If the worst should happen, Ed, take care of the girls, will you? And…and make sure they know I love them. And, Edmund, I…I…oh, Ed, I never meant to be such a blockhead. I--"

"Stop," my own voice breaks and my hands are shaking where I still grip his shoulders, their knuckles white. "Peter, stop. Please."

I don't want to hear this. I really don't want to hear this.

Raising one badly trembling hand to brush away the last of the tears still clinging to his cheeks, I am acutely aware that mine haven't slowed a bit. "You don't have to say anything. Please don't say anything. I've--"

But he's already shaking his head. "Ed, I have to. Please. You have to know. I want you to know. You've always--"

I cry out softly. "Peter, _stop_!"

And he does, if only because of the sheer amount of pain in my voice.

"Why?"

He sounds just as ravaged as I am.

Because this, this is the hardest part about being a younger brother, the worst part about being the younger king.

I choke on a sob, squeezing my eyes shut. "Because if you don't, if you say what I know you're going to say, then there is no way I will be able, in good conscience, to send you out onto that battlefield!"

Above me, Peter sucks in a sharp breath.

Before I know quite what's happening, I abruptly find myself jerked once more against my brother's chest. His arms crush me to him and several rough kisses are pressed to my face. He's trembling again.

"Oh, Aslan, Ed…" His voice cracks.

I can't bring myself to care.

I told Caspian I had learned to let go.

It doesn't get any easier with repetition.

_Tbc._


	2. Fealty

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Um, yeah...:coughs: as you'll see from the rating below, this chapter is literally _packed_ with angst. I reiterate my warning from the first chapter, be sure you have a tissue box _well_ at hand. I'm not sure I've _ever_ written a messier chapter than this (emotion-wise), but well…after seeing _Prince Caspian_ three times by this point, and spending at least one of those viewings intently studying Edmund's every reaction and every look (Peter's too), you get this. I really hope you like it and a million thanks to everyone who has reviewed.

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intense moments)

_**Summary:**_ This, this was the hardest part about being a younger brother, the worst part about being the younger king…(Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**Memories/Personal Thoughts (Italics)**_

_Steadfast Heart_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Two: Fealty_

(An Hour Before Single Combat)

"_You! You should hope your brother's sword is sharper than his pen!"_

With a grimace, I shut my eyes tightly against the memory of Miraz's final words to me in his pavilion. He'll never know how deeply they cut me.

"Ed?"

Although…challenging both his pride as a king and as a man probably did not help me any. Yes, I was being deliberately provoking—dangerous and probably very, very foolish, but Aslan help me…the _last_ thing I wanted was for my brother's plans to fall through. He'd trusted me to secure the single combat, and come hell or high-water, I would get him that combat.

Even if it resulted in a literal hell for me.

"Ed, hand me those vambraces, will you?"

It's not Peter who I doubt. It is Miraz and whatever miniscule sense of honor he claims to possess.

I'm not sure if he even has one.

"Ed, did you get that?"

But Peter…he is honorable to the point of sheer foolishness on occasion.

_This _Peter, anyway.

He never thinks the less of any man or woman until they give him _reason_ to think less of them. He has never understood men like Miraz, and I thank Aslan every day that he does not, even if it means I am impaled with a sword in order to keep it that way.

Or with a crossbow bolt, as will probably be the case with the Telmarines.

"Ed…Ed! Snap out of it!"

And abruptly, two warm hands are framing my face, jerking my eyes on-level with bright blue ones.

My breath leaves me in a rushing gasp and I'm horrified to hear it catch.

Sorrow floods my older brother's eyes. He knows me too well.

"You're such a worrywart," he murmurs sadly, smoothing my hair away with a gentle hand. His hands and head are the only parts of him that aren't covered by mail or armor.

"With a brother like you, I have every right to be," I mutter thickly.

My breathing hitches as he presses an apologetic kiss to my forehead, but he doesn't _say_ anything…it's all in his eyes as he smiles at me.

I tightly grip his wrists, inhaling shakily as I try my best to bolster my rapidly fleeing composure.

Peter's forehead lightly touches mine and he gazes straight into my eyes as he speaks, voice soft, "I need you to keep your wits about you, Ed. If you fall to pieces, it's a sure thing I will as well."

"Oh, Aslan, Peter," and my voice fluctuates wildly, "please don't tell me things like that."

Because I know, I _know_ I'll do exactly as he asks, in order to keep from burdening him more than he is already.

He presses closer. "Sorry," his voice drops to a whisper as he nuzzles my nose.

_This is the most affectionate he has been with me in over a year._

I inhale again, a little steadier this time, and he breathes with me.

"That's it, Ed. Deep breath." The tenderness in his voice is breaking my heart.

I take another breath—deep, as he instructed. He breathes with me again.

"Now another."

As we breathe again, it crosses my mind that he has _never_ done this for me before. Of course, I've never let him see me panic before, either.

Usually Lucy is the one who calms me down when I'm like this.

I let my breath out in a rush and he grins when he sees I've finally calmed. "There. You're all right."

I turn my face against his and shut my eyes, breathing his scent, trying to memorize it, while praying desperately to Aslan and every other deity I can think of to keep him safe, and return him to me whole.

There's a heavy sigh against my cheek. "You're not the least bit happy with this decision of mine, are you, Ed?"

It takes every shred of my control to prevent my voice from wobbling. "When have I ever been?"

He chuckles weakly into my neck. "Point taken."

A not entirely steady breath in, and I press my palms flat to his tabard-covered chest, its scarlet fabric and golden Lion blazing at me from thirteen-hundred years past, and push away, forcing myself to straighten and open my eyes to look him directly in the face.

"But you are my King, and you are my brother, I will follow you," my voice begins trembling, but my gaze never wavers from his face, "wherever it is you may lead."

As fealty oaths go, it is neither the fanciest nor the most original. I had sworn many to Peter over the years we spent together as kings; he was aware of some…others he was not.

But judging from the very visible clenching of his jaw, it is enough for now.

As I move to drop my hands from his chest, he gathers them tightly between his own and gazes straight back at me. "I would have your blessing, brother."

He's asked it as High King. Now I can't breathe at all.

My own words catch in my throat. "What?"

It's strangled.

Peter shakes his head. "Please, Ed," and his look firms, "don't deny me this."

_As if I could ever deny you anything._

My brother drops to one knee in front of me on the rough stone as I swallow and fiercely blink back tears. We are in front of the carving of Aslan, in the doorway which only mere hours ago was a block of ice—not even a sliver of wand or puddle of water remains.

Somehow, it seems incredibly appropriate that he would ask this of me here.

Peter holds my gaze steadily, the unabashed affection in the depths of his blue eyes doing much to ground me. After several eternities, he bows his head.

Fumbling, I place my hands on his head and when I speak, my voice is not at all stable, "M-May neither fear nor fire burn you, pain n-nor plague smite you, d-despair nor death take you. A-Aslan guide you, As…Aslan preserve you, Aslan…keep you and walk…walk your path…"

I take in a deep breath and abruptly drop to my knees in front of him. Peter startles but does not move otherwise, his eyes flying open to lock with mine. "Go wherever your heart may lead you, follow wherever your feet may take you, and know all that I can give and everything that I am is yours to have until by Aslan's grace we may meet again."

As I kiss his forehead, I wonder if he can hear the shards of my own heart shattering on the floor.

IOIOIOIOIOI

(On the Field of Combat, an Hour Later)

In all the nightmares I've had, never once did it occur to me that I would one day walk my brother to what could very well be his death.

He'd asked me to carry his sword. Like so many other things, I hadn't been able to refuse.

"_Will you walk with me?"_

We parted at the field of combat—I choked on what I wanted to say. Peter didn't say anything other than those five, piercing words.

He had tried, after receiving my blessing. I had asked him not to.

"_I know, Pete. Leave it at that."_

He didn't even look at me as he turned to step out into the ruins where the combat was to take place. Just set his jaw, grasped his sword's hilt, and turned with eyes full of fire to face Miraz.

I had to fight down nausea.

_Aslan preserve him._

Visor down, he leaps at Miraz with all the quickness and strength of a young man determined to fight for what is his.

He fights for Aslan, and Narnia, hammer and tongs the entire way. It goes unsaid that he fights for Lucy, Susan, and I, too.

Miraz fights only for a stolen crown. I know he has a son, and a wife, and an entire army at his disposal.

But his son is an infant, his wife an unknowing and unwilling participant, and his army held together only by fear.

Such is the way of unbridled power and those who seek it.

I have to hope it will be enough to give Peter the advantage.

_Aslan keep him safe._

He has lost his helmet. Little good it does him on the ground.

Thrust. Parry. Parry. Swing.

This isn't the first combat I've had to watch. As High King, Peter fought in many—too many—during our reign.

I can only think of half a dozen instances when our roles were reversed.

Uppercut. Spin. Backhand. Follow-up. Hilt.

_Aslan guide him. Aslan guard him._

Downwards slash. Sunlight glints off my brother's blade. First blood.

As Miraz staggers, smothering a yell and giving a wild swing with the hand that isn't clutching his leg, I allow myself the faintest of smiles, despite the circumstances.

This is living proof that Caspian was right, and that Peter's skill with a sword has remained untarnished.

Unfortunately, it also means that Miraz is mad. Livid, in fact.

When he rough checks Peter, who lands hard on the stone, he wastes little time in bringing down his full weight to bear on Peter's shield arm.

The action wrenches an agonized cry from my brother's throat.

_Aslan save him._

My hands are shaking badly as a white-faced Peter returns from the lists for a brief rest and I have to clench them in tight fists at my sides. I pray my brother doesn't notice.

Susan and Caspian quickly gain my side, and I notice with a sickening jolt that Lucy is not with them. For the first time since the combat began, I am able to focus on something outside of Peter.

_Where is she? What happened to her? Is she safe? Has she found Aslan?_

Incidentally, it is also Peter who voices my thoughts, completely disregarding his own state of health and in all likelihood ready to charge to our little sister's aid at the slightest indication that she needs it, "Lucy?"

Thinly veiled concern permeates his voice.

Susan takes in a deep breath and casts us a crooked smile, "She got through…" and glances at Caspian with a rather warmer and incredibly grateful smile, "with a little help."

Peter visibly sags and looks like he would gladly collapse where he stands. As I grab him around the waist, just in case, he looks at Caspian, relief and gratitude flooding his face, "Thanks."

I try desperately to ignore the gasping quality of his voice.

The slightest flush touches Caspian's cheeks as he bows his head in acknowledgement. "Well…You were busy."

Peter turns to Susan, and although he does his best to conceal it, his voice is ragged and breathless with pain, "You'd better get up there." He gives a painful looking nod in the direction of Aslan's How where Trumpkin and our other archers are lined up across the middle two steppes. "Just in case."

When my older sister's jaw tightens, I know I'm not the only one who dreads the outcome of this combat.

She turns away to hide it and her gaze lights on me.

Seeing the echo of her own anguish on my face, her eyes fill with tears. I am nearly certain she's about to throw herself at me, and I brace myself accordingly, when she whips around and hugs Peter with all the willowy strength of her frame, burying her face in his chest.

Susan doesn't tell Peter, but I know she is hugging him for both of us. Lucy, too, I'd imagine.

He gives a hard wince, letting out a strangled cry and a loud gasp.

Susan starts, and immediately pulls back, her face a shade paler than normal. "Sorry," she whispers.

Peter, our wonderfully exasperating, wonderfully selfless older brother, merely shakes his head, giving her a tender smile, "It's fine."

I hadn't thought my heart could break again; judging from Susan's agonized glance up into his eyes and then at me, hers is tearing apart, too.

But she still moves to go, kissing his cheek for what might be the last time. "Be careful."

I would dearly love to tell him the same and so much more. But I won't.

Instead, as Susan flees for the relative sanctuary of duty, I catch sight of the Narnians watching us from out of the corner of my eye, all of whom have not once looked away from the combat, and all of whom have just seen one of their queens hug their High King as if the entire world were falling apart around her.

For us, it really is. But we can't tell them that—hope is what they need to cling to.

"Keep smiling," I murmur to Peter. His tender glance as he hears that scares me.

It is a well-known drill for all four of us. No matter how much pain, how much grief, how much sorrow or horror we felt, we always kept smiling.

As Peter does now—tightly, battling desperately to keep from simply keeling over. And adds an extraordinarily painful looking thrust of his sword into the air to augment it.

Unsurprisingly, it does much to reassure the Narnians who erupt into wild cheers.

Caspian's expression of blank shock (he obviously is aware of _exactly_ how much pain Peter must be in) melts into an extremely wry look which he promptly shoots at me. As we scramble around Peter, seating him on the remains of the stone steps, trying to make him as comfortable as possible, Caspian mutters to me out of the corner of his mouth, repeating the words I had spoken to him only four hours before, "Overly noble and ridiculously self-sacrificing? Perhaps you should add 'insanely tolerant' and 'inhumanly resilient' to that list?"

I return his look with an equally wry one of my own and nearly snort at the expression it brings to Peter's face as he overhears.

When he turns to me, the look he wears is as dry as the Great Southern Desert which leads to Tashbaan. "What in all of Narnia did you tell him, Ed?"

I am unable to keep from smirking slightly. "Nothing but the truth, big brother. Nothing but the truth," and relieve him briefly of his sword.

The smirk fades as I move away, and gently lean Rhindon against a marble column. Tracing my fingers lightly over its etchings, I allow my eyes trail over its sleek, familiar form. Memorizing it. Cherishing it. Because this sword has never yet failed my brother.

_Aslan uphold him._

At that moment, a pained yell is choked off behind me and my stomach flips.

Bolting around, I see a white-faced Caspian holding my brother's shield, eyes locked on Peter's shoulder. A moment later, he raises them to my own eyes and the deep worry in their depths pierces me.

Shooting to my feet, I whirl on Peter. "Pete?!"

He winces and gasps out, cradling his left arm protectively, "I-I think it's dislocated."

I swallow back bile and quickly move to his side, bracing him against my leg and resting one hand gingerly on his torn shoulder and the other on his wrist.

Setting a dislocated shoulder is tricky, and invariably painful. It is best to do it when the patient least suspects, otherwise the tense anticipation of their body makes it that much worse. It's never pretty, and I've never liked it—at _all_.

Fortunately, Peter seems far more preoccupied with other things. Knowing him, I'm not going to like it.

"What do you think happens back at home, when you die here?"

My head reels and I nearly stagger.

_Dear Aslan, __**what**__?_

Peter suddenly shifts to face me, such intense, unadulterated emotion pouring into his blue eyes as he watches me that the breath is literally knocked from my lungs. "You know you've always been there and I never really--"

He half-screams as I abruptly use his distraction to sharply snap his shoulder blade back in place.

A flash of white heat, a copper tang, and a dribble of warm, scarlet liquid. I must have bitten straight through my bottom lip as I set his shoulder.

Giving us both time to recover, I allow him to lean heavily against my leg as he tries to breathe through the sudden lance of pain.

When I finally speak, my voice is just on the solid side of tremulous, "Save it for later, Pete."

But he doesn't save it for later.

As I move to leave, swiping at the blood on my lip before he can see it, he grabs my free hand and presses a firm kiss to my palm.

I freeze and do not dare turn to face him, knowing that if I do, little will keep me from declaring him unfit to duel, and going in his place.

I don't understand it—and I'm not sure I want to—but against every protesting fiber of my soul, I know I have to let him do this.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The respite is far too brief. Mere minutes have passed and Miraz is already moving to re-enter the lists.

Peter is also on his feet, standing tall with sword and shield once more in hand; his chin is lifted, his eyes clear, and his shoulders are proudly thrown back—every inch Narnia's High King.

_Aslan preserve him._

_Aslan guide him. Aslan guard him. _

_Aslan keep him safe. Aslan uphold him. Aslan walk his path._

When I try to hand him his helmet, he refuses. Across the lists, Miraz does the same.

_Aslan save him._

Without so much as a word for Caspian or a glance at me, he steps back out onto the combat field.

I'm grateful. He can't see me dying that way.

_Aslan, please…I love him._

_Tbc._


	3. Saving It for Later

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ A thousand times thank you for all your wonderful reviews—I really appreciate them.

_**Author's Note:**_ You know that warning from the first chapter? It applies doubly to this one. This is angsty and sentimental (although hopefully not too sappy) with a capital "A" and "S." This was also the hardest chapter to write out, and therefore, the one I'm proudest (so far) of. I hope you enjoy it!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intense moments)

_**Summary:**_ This, this was the hardest part about being a younger brother, the worst part about being the younger king…(Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**Memories/Personal Thoughts (Italics)**_

_Steadfast Heart_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Three: Saving It for Later_

(Late Evening, a Day Later; Dream Sequence Beginning)

_I've never known fear so vivid as this. Not even the Witch (or her reappearance) can match the dread that's invading my heart now—because I was able to kill Jadis, once again, with little thought…except the safety of my brother._

_Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I also did it for our country, and the young king who was to __**rule**__ our country. But at that moment my only thought, as it had been so many years ago, was: __**She can't have him! Not my brother!**_

_It's always been like that, I know._

_It has been over a year since we were last in proper battle. Twice that since Peter was last wounded. Thrice that since he last engaged in single combat._

_I had forgotten what it's like, how much I hated being left behind._

_And now, Peter has lost not only his helmet, but his shield…and his sword._

_It's only a small consolation that Miraz has lost his sword, as well. He still has his shield, and is making frighteningly efficient use of it._

_When another solid blow lands on Peter's wounded shoulder (which I know for a fact is still tender), I can't help the gasp that escapes my lips and bite the inside of my cheek, digging my fingernails into my palms—I've long since bitten the blood out of my bottom lip._

_Caspian's face is gray with anxiety where he stands at my side, watching the repeated knocks my brother is taking. I'm left to wonder if this is the first single combat he has seen. "How much hope is there for the High King, Edmund?"_

_I have to squeeze my eyes shut. "Precious little," is all I can whisper._

_There's an audible click as Caspian clenches his jaw. "I should be out there! Why did we let this happen at __**all**__?"_

"_You know why, Caspian. You know what needs to be done and why it isn't you." _

_I snap my eyes open, but am utterly unable to look away from my brother. He has just taken a dreadful knock to the head._

_I can taste copper on my tongue. Peter isn't getting up…and Miraz has recovered his sword._

_A flash of silver in sunlight and Susan's strident scream pierces the air._

(End Dream Sequence)

Someone's screaming. I don't know who or why or what, but someone's screaming, and I can't get up. My sheets are vises, tangled around my legs and arms.

Someone's screaming, and it sounds familiar, but I can't move. No matter how I thrash and pull and shove, I can't get free.

A large, warm nose nuzzles into my palm and I'm barely able to eke out, "Aslan…" as strangled and garbled and hoarse as it is.

The voice has stopped screaming. Belatedly I realize that it was me.

There's a Lion's kiss to my hand in response. As I reach out to tangle my fingers in His mane, utter relief rushes through me. He's not…him, but He is more than welcome and if He is here, that means _something_ must have gone right.

Aslan turns slightly and nods, presumably to someone. I can't hear the words they speak over the rushing of blood in my ears, but I do catch the dulcet, highly accented tones of their voice as they call something out to a servant.

A few muddled moments later, footsteps pad across the floor, and a cool hand rests on my forehead as its owner stops beside Aslan. Their hand is larger than either of my sisters' and callused enough that I know they have handled a sword. It almost feels like—

_No! Do __**not**__ continue that line of thinking. It can't be, and it isn't, and--_

There is a flash of liquid crimson behind my eyelids and I see the life fleeing my brother's blue eyes.

Immediately, I am forced to roll over on my side and hang my head over the side of the bed, retching miserably and hoping anyone and anything in the vicinity is well clear of me.

The cool hand is on my forehead again and Aslan gives my cheek a warm, rough lick, a low, rumbling purr rising from His throat.

When I am able to stop retching, I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling tears run down my cheeks. Left shaking and utterly _mortified_ by my lack of control, I sob out faintly, "I'm sorry!"

There's a choked, slightly tremulous laugh from above me. "You're sorry?" and I recognize the voice as Caspian's. The hand, then, is also his.

At that moment, the door to the room creaks open, and immediately, he turns to face whoever it is that has entered and demands, "Is this what it is like to be an older sibling?"

I don't hear the response. My mind is numb and spinning, still reeling from the assault of images I would much rather forget.

_What's Caspian doing here? Wasn't there a battle? And…oh, Aslan, __**Peter**__!_

My fingers are trembling as they cling to Aslan's mane. Dimly, I realize I've actually started shivering and feel hollow and cold to the core.

_What happened to him?_

My last clear memory is of the single combat. Peter hadn't gotten up after a blow to the head; Susan had screamed. Anything after that I had blocked out until it was a blurred haze of meshing images—crimson and death and fear, swords clashing, catapults screaming, horses rearing…I remember little of my companions and whether or not they lived.

I remember even less of my siblings…of Peter.

So when the mattress abruptly sinks under another's weight, and a second hand comes down to rest lightly on my back with a touch that is heartbreakingly familiar, it is all I can do to keep from screaming again.

"Ed?"

My body seizes up, and a cry dies on my lips.

_It can't be._

"Edmund?"

_No way._

"Ed, don't clam up. Let me in."

_No. He's not…He isn't…He—_

"Edmund…"

_No. No. No. This is impossible. I shouldn't be hearing him. I shouldn't be feeling him. He's…He's…_

The hand on my back starts gently rubbing up and down.

"Ed? It's me. It's Peter. You've got to talk to me, Ed. Tell me what's wrong."

Tears prick at the back of my eyes. I roll over and away from the familiar hand, away from Caspian and his compassion…away from Aslan and his comfort. A cracked whisper falls from my lips, "No."

Worry heightens the pitch of his voice. "Ed?"

Vigorously, I start shaking my head, curling into a tight ball. "No. You _can't_ be! You aren't! You…you're…" I'm absolutely horrified to realize I've started crying—I can taste the salt on my lips.

His voice wobbles dangerously. "Oh, Ed…"

Aslan help me…I can't stand this.

When his hand grips my shoulder and gently tugs, I tense up and am utterly unable to move.

He leans over me; before I can consciously process what's happening, lips are lightly pressed to my cheek and the scent of powder and sunshine washes over me. _His_ scent.

With a gasp, I yield to his hand and my eyes fly open as he eases me over onto my back.

Blue eyes lock with mine.

A hesitant smile curls his lips.

Fingers brush my cheek.

…I yell. It makes perfect sense, considering my mind tells me he's supposed to be dead.

Of course, toppling over the opposite side of the bed really isn't the best way to escape what my eyes are stubbornly trying to deny.

There's a rather panicked cry from above me: "Edmund!"

Arms close around my waist just as I tumble to the floor; instead of cold flagstone and rug, I am greeted by silk and soft warmth against my cheek.

There's a grunt from underneath me, and then a pained groan. "Ouch," muttered ruefully into my ear.

I jerk, and immediately scramble off him, propelling myself backwards into the hard wooden post of my bed.

_Bad idea._

I hiss as my back and head connect solidly with the mahogany.

Hands gently grab my head as I topple forward, parting my hair and tenderly probing at the back of it.

White heat and bright sparks, and I let out another hiss, squeezing my eyes shut automatically.

_Damn, that hurts!_

"You'll live," he informs me dryly, and I sense him sitting back on his heels, carefully releasing me with a brush of his hand through my hair.

A long moment of silence passes until he speaks again, voice unusually soft, "Ed?"

I shudder, and draw my knees to my chest.

Thankfully, he doesn't try to touch me, even though I know how difficult it must be for him to restrain himself. "Look at me, Ed," and his voice wavers, nearly pleading.

Did I mention I've never been able to refuse him?

I draw in a trembling breath, half-choked and thick with tears, and crack my eyes open.

Golden-haired, tight-faced, dressed in his borrowed nightwear, my older brother gazes back at me with anguished blue eyes.

I am unable to smother a cry.

He jerks, balling his fists at his side and clenching his jaw, but does not try to reach out for me.

That reaction alone tells me I'm not dreaming.

Letting out his breath in a long rush, he squares his shoulders and forces himself to relax. One by one, he loosens his fingers until both fists are unclenched and finally looks at me with a warm smile. His voice is tender and reassuring when he speaks, "It's all right, Ed. It's just me. Here, you can tell, can't you?"

And he holds out his hands, palm up.

Powerless to fight down another shudder, I slowly uncurl.

I don't want to do this…for reasons I doubt I'll ever understand. But—

Reaching out, I slide my palms over his.

I feel my breathing hitch.

_He's solid._

My hands slip up to his face. My fingers trace his eyes. They flutter shut under my touch.

_He's __**real**__._

Moisture leaks out of their corners. My fingertips track it along his jaw line, down to his mouth. Warm breath ghosts across their pads. I have to bite back another cry.

_He's __**ALIVE**__._

"_Peter_," I gasp out raggedly.

I'm not sure who moves first—I think we both do. All I know is that I'm suddenly in Peter's arms, and that he's clutching me to his chest. He sucks in several deep breaths, "Edmund," and presses several kisses to my hair, voice thick, "Ed, shh. Everything's fine. I'm here."

"Peter…oh, God, Peter…." my own voice is little more than a moan.

"Shh," he soothes, continuing to press kisses to my hair, my forehead, my cheeks…I've only ever seen Susan do this to Lucy, when our little sister needed comfort.

And oh, _Aslan_, did I need Peter's comfort right now.

"Shh. Hush, Ed. It's all right," and he kisses my hair again. "I promise it's all right."

I can hear his voice trembling, and feel tears stream down my cheeks to soak the fabric of his nightshirt.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I know this is hardly behavior befitting a Golden Monarch of Narnia, but honestly? I could care less.

I truly thought my brother was dead. And to find now that he isn't…

"Ed? Was it a nightmare?"

"Oh, no, it was a lovely little frolic through fields of violet and primrose!" my voice has risen a notch and borders on hysterical. "What do you _think_, Peter?"

"Well, at least I know your mouth is working," he grumbles.

In response, I press my face tightly against his chest and bunch my fists in his nightclothes. Trying to hide, I suppose.

There's a soft grunt from above me, and slight incredulity laces my brother's voice, "Ed?"

Dear Aslan, what am I supposed to say to him? "'Oh, by the way, Pete, you're supposed to be dead?'" Not bloody likely.

He sighs and tightens his arms around me. "I'd ask what it was about, but I think I can guess well enough." He blows out another long breath and I feel him bury his nose in my hair. "Oh, Ed. Miraz is dead. I'm alive. How strange that you dream it the other way around."

"Not really."

I start at Caspian's voice. Turning to look up at him from Peter's chest, I blink and feel a few gathered tears slide down my cheeks.

He smiles sadly at me from where he is crouched in front of us, Aslan at his shoulder, and reaches out a gentle hand to wipe away the tears. His dark eyes are knowing and sympathetic, and I'm abruptly reminded of our discussion not even a full day ago:

"_You love him very much."_

"_More than the breath in my body."_

He quirks another, slightly wry, smile at me, sensing the direction of my thoughts, and then turns to face my brother, gaze soft and even. "It is not so strange when you consider what he could have lost."

There's a sharp, indrawn breath from Peter as he registers the implications of that statement and wastes little time in tilting my head up and away from his chest. "Ed?"

There is a thousand questions behind that one word. I choose to answer only one: looking up into my brother's eyes as steadily as I can, watching the king I would follow anywhere, I reply, "I fear…because I _love_ you. Surely you knew that."

Peter knows me, and he knows I do not use words lightly. Rare were the times during our reign when I expressed my emotions to him so directly. When I do, he never knows what to say. Usually, he ends up…well, not _bawling_ per se, but certainly very close to tears.

He does not disappoint now. Blue eyes go misty and I nearly squeak as he crushes me a little too tightly back against his chest.

We're not given much time to recover: as Caspian smiles at us and shifts to the side, Aslan bends down His great head to gaze solemnly at my brother. "Know you hold one of your greatest treasures in your arms, Peter—never forget that."

"I shan't, Aslan," and his look, when he ducks his head to smile at me, is so incredibly tender that I feel my cheeks sear with heat. "Not this time."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Aslan sends us—and Caspian—off to bed not long after.

There is little question of where I'm spending the remainder of the night. I know Peter well enough to realize that there is no way he is letting me out of his sight again tonight.

Even to my own ears, my protest sounds half-hearted when he sweeps me up into his arms, "Really, Pete, you don't need to _carry_ me there. I can walk well enough on my own."

"Of course you can," he acknowledges absently, but makes no move to put me down.

It is, therefore, rather an awkward bow he drops into a few moments later. "Good night, Aslan."

The Lion sweeps back His ears and chuckles softly, shaking His mane and crinkling His golden eyes in affectionate amusement as He watches the two of us. "Good night, my Son. Edmund…" He nuzzles my cheek, "may sweeter sleep find you tonight in your brother's room than your own."

I grin—a little drowsily—at Him. "I am sure it will, Aslan."

I hesitate then, biting (and wincing when I bite it) my bottom lip. "Um…" It seems only right that I say more, after all He's done. "Aslan, I…" I flush slightly, but manage to work one arm out of Peter's hold to throw around His neck as far as I can reach, burying my face in His mane. "Thank you," I whisper.

_For returning him to me—_thinking of Peter.

_For coming—_thinking of my desperate prayers.

_For helping—_thinking of Narnia and my nightmare.

_For __**everything**_.

Aslan chuckles again, a low, warm rumble—nearly a purr. "You are most welcome, Child." And I know He has heard what I have _not_ said.

When He pulls back, He regards me with deep, somber eyes. "You feared, but your faith in me remained strong. I thank you for that, and I thank you for entrusting me with so precious a gift as your brother's life."

I blush softly, especially when it becomes apparent Peter has heard and his arms tighten around me. "I would trust no one more," I whisper, and Aslan smiles.

Peter has caught my arm and places it back around his neck as Aslan licks both our foreheads, "Good night, my Dears. Sleep well."

One final bow from my brother, and he heads for the door.

We are met by Caspian just before we reach it, and he stops Peter with a gentle hand on his shoulder. The other he returns to my forehead, gazing down at me, "Will you be all right?"

Touched by the concern I can see in his dark eyes, I smile at him, reaching out to squeeze his arm as his hand drops away. "I'm fine now, Caspian. Sorry to worry you."

He shakes his head, smiling slightly. "You needn't apologize, Edmund. I am glad all is well." He raises his head and meets Peter's eyes, his own suddenly very earnest. "I will see your quarters are adjoined for the rest of your stay here, King Peter." His smile widens a bit. "I have been told by your royal sisters that you usually prefer to share a room."

Peter looks incredibly relieved and Caspian actually grins when he sees me roll my eyes warmly up at my brother. Trust Susan and Lucy to tell Caspian something like that (regardless of the fact that it's true) and trust Peter to have wanted it all along, but been too hesitant to ask.

"Ed, I'm going to put you down a minute," my older brother suddenly murmurs, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

I nod as he allows me to slip to my feet—knowing what he has in mind, if the way he is now watching Caspian is anything to go by. He still keeps one arm wrapped around my shoulders, but I don't mind too much, really. I don't think I want him going very far tonight.

Peter reaches out his free hand to Caspian with a smile. "Thank you for everything, Caspian."

Unsure quite what to make of the gesture (Telmarines, apparently, are just as unfamiliar with handshakes as Narnians), but nonetheless understanding that it expresses gratitude, Caspian clasps Peter's upper arm with a smile.

Peter uses that to pull him close and kiss him on both his cheeks.

Predictably, Caspian goes pure red, and is a little too stunned to say anything even remotely coherent as Peter pulls back.

I have to hide my grin against my brother's shoulder.

IOIOIOIOIOI

(In Peter's Quarters, Some Minutes Later)

I let out a faint, wet huff as Peter steps into his bedroom and lets the door fall softly shut behind him. "You know, you're going to have to explain to Caspian what exactly just happened back there. I think he has a right to know when he's been adopted into the Golden Monarchs' family."

Peter simply chuckles and begins walking towards the bed. "And what would you have me tell him, Ed? 'Oh, by the way, you're our brother now, sorry to surprise you?' You know he's sweet on Susan. Poor chap, he'd either go catatonic or propose. I don't think either of them are quite ready for that step, yet."

I snort quietly. "You're not ready to let Su go, yet, you mean."

He grins. "That, too."

I shake my head. "You're hopeless, Pete."

He full out laughs. "Would you have me be any other way, Ed?"

I sigh, and curl into him, tightening my arms around his neck. "No," I murmur, voice barely audible.

He just kisses my forehead.

We've reached the bed at this point. In spite of all my protests, my brother has been carrying me ever since we left my assigned rooms (he's wonderful like that). I know I probably should have felt embarrassed, but I couldn't bring myself to, really—his arms around me and his warm body have been a solid comfort.

We were not stopped as Peter navigated the halls of Caspian's castle, and I'm not sure how late it actually is. Probably quite late, given that the torches were low and hardly a soul walked the corridors except for us.

"You all right, Ed? That was quite a nasty shock you gave me, you know."

He's settled me on the mattress by now, and watches me with concerned blue eyes as he smoothes back my hair.

I can't help the small smile that touches my lips. "Depends…are you planning on coming to bed?"

It startles a laugh out of him. "I was planning on it, yes." He nudges me in the side. "Scootch."

Grinning, I shift, allowing him to slip into the bed beside me. As soon as he lies down on the sheets, I roll over to curl up against his side, content to stay there for the rest of the evening.

"Oof. Ed, do I look like a pillow?"

"Shut up. You know you don't mind."

Just to prove it, I snuggle into his chest. Immediately, his arm snakes around my shoulders and tightens, the fingers of his free hand coming up to thread through my hair.

It is a few minutes before he speaks again, voice very quiet, "I really scared you…didn't I? Yesterday…"

I clench my eyes shut, digging my face into his neck, and give a single, small nod.

_Petrified would be a better description._

"I'm sorry," he apologizes softly.

"Oh, dry up!" I snap, hating how my voice trembles. "You couldn't help it."

"Even so, Ed," and he uses the hand he's tangled in my hair to draw my head up, releasing my shoulders to lightly trace his fingers over the dried trails my earlier tears have left behind, "I _am_ sorry."

He frowns sadly when his fingers find my split lip and gently brush it. "So very sorry," he whispers. Abruptly, he squeezes his eyes shut and pulls me completely on top of him, burying his head in my shoulder and holding me tight. "I really love you very much, you know. You _have_ always been there, and I've never properly thanked you for it. I would never have been able to do any of this without you, nor would I be half the king—half the _person_—I am now if you hadn't been right by my side the entire way. I wanted you to know that, Ed—I _hope_ you know it. And…and listen," my poor brother…his voice is trembling, "I promise I'll be better this time around. Really, I swear it. I'll be the king…the brother you and the girls deserve, Ed. Really, I will. You believe me, don't you?"

The look he gives me is so wild, so painfully hopeful, and so very frightened.

"Oh, Peter…" My voice cracks.

_Oh, my selfless, self-blaming brother. What have you done to yourself? Can you not understand how little it matters? How little I care? I __**love**__ you—surely you understand that nothing else matters?_

"Of course I do."

_There was never a time I didn't._

_To be concluded…_

_**Endnote:**_ Um, yeah…:sheepishly rubs head: I sort of decided that I needed to add an epilogue to this, hence the "To be concluded." I hope you'll stay tuned!


	4. Epilogue: Learning What Matters

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you one and all for your wonderful reviews. I may not respond to all of them, but I do read each one I receive and appreciate it just the same. So thank you :grins:.

_**Author's Note:**_ :long sigh: Lo and behold, it's finished! :grins: And boy, was this a difficult chapter to get out. I went through at least three versions of this before I settled on one I liked. I hope you approve; thank you for sticking with me!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ This, this was the hardest part about being a younger brother, the worst part about being the younger king…(Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**Memories/Personal Thoughts (Italics)**_

_Steadfast Heart_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Epilogue: Learning What Matters_

(In England a Day Later, After Returning from Narnia)

I glance up as Peter enters our train compartment and slides the door shut behind him, sinking into the seat across from me with a deep sigh as the train begins to move.

"The girls all set?" I ask, giving him a pointed look when he stretches his too-long legs in-between my own.

He just smirks warmly at me before settling his feet in my lap and crossing his ankles.

I make some pretense of scowling at him, before lightly shoving them off and onto the seat beside me. "Well?"

He takes in a deep breath and lets it out, visibly relaxing. "They got off all right." He looks up at me with another smirk. "We're also under strict orders to write them as soon as we arrive and can get our hands on some parchment and ink."

I roll my eyes fondly. "I don't think they need to worry."

_I miss them already._

Peter's smirk mellows into a sad smile of his own as he follows my line of thinking. "I know what you mean. Su practically had to pry Lucy off me at the station when I said good-bye. Thank you for that, by the way…I needed some time to talk with them."

I smile briefly at him, before looking down to fiddle with his shoelaces. I bid the girls good-bye just before they left the compartment, and let Peter walk them to the door of the train, hoping that he'd be able to make amends (and reassure them at the same time) as easily as he had with me last night.

It seems to have worked out extraordinarily well, given his description of what happened with Lu.

Thinking of last night reminds me of this morning, and I frown a bit, rubbing at his shoes. "I'm sorry you can't come back."

As he often does, he knows exactly what I mean. "It's not your fault, Ed. It was no one's fault, really. Aslan even said so himself. Su and I…we've learned all we can from Narnia. I think I knew that, actually…deep down, I mean. Did you know, when I first realized where we were…I was disappointed, Ed."

Startled, I raise my head. "Disappointed? Peter…?"

He looks vaguely disturbed. "It was so _different_ from what I remembered. It took me a while to understand that even though it was different, even though it was savage, dark, and wild, it was still _Narnia_, and I still loved her, just same as I always had, even if it didn't feel like _home_ anymore. And I think…I think that's partially why I was such an ass."

Unable to help myself, I give a faint snort. "The other part, I'm sure, is your ridiculously overblown sense of guilt. Lion's Mane, Peter! You can no more be held accountable for the crimes of the Telmarines than Caspian can!"

"I know that," he admits softly. "Now."

I smirk lightly at him. "Good. It only took you sixteen years."

He gives me a baffled look. "Sixteen years to what?"

My smirk widens. "To realize that you're not responsible for every little thing that goes wrong. Now you just think you're responsible for half of them."

He gives a good-natured groan, lightly chucking his empty school bag at me. "Oh, shut up, Ed."

Laughing, I dodge it, letting it hit the seat and tumble down to land next to his feet. "Is that any way to treat your favorite brother?"

"Ed, you're my _only_ brother."

I grin. "All the more reason for you to treat me well. There's only so many of me, you know."

Peter musses my hair, smiling in return. "Oh, and I'm _sure_ that's stopped you from being selfless idiot charging in to save a _noble_ idiot, who just happens to be your older brother."

"Of course." I favor him with a tender smirk. "If I didn't, who would?"

He laughs softly, giving my hair one last tousle before dropping his hand. "You're incorrigible, Ed." He responds to my smirk with an affectionate grin of his own, turning rather more serious, "But I know how you are with me…finally. I think it only took me about a year longer than last time, too."

With an embarrassed smile, I lean back into the seat and, after a moment, shut my eyes, releasing a quiet sigh.

"Ed? Are you all right?"

I open my eyes to find him watching me worriedly from where he sits across the compartment, and offer him another tiny smile. "Just tired, Pete. Nothing so bad as what you're thinking."

He grimaces lightly at me, before shaking his head in fond exasperation. "Honestly, Ed, sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself." Scooting closer to the door of the compartment (and knocking his school bag to the floor in the process), he motions to the open cushions beside him. "Why don't you come over here by me? You might be more comfortable that way."

I raise an eyebrow at him, but carefully stand and make my way over, trying not to be toppled by the train car's movement. When I sit beside him, he tugs me down to lie on the seat with my head in his lap.

I hesitate a minute. "What if someone sees us?"

He rolls his eyes, gently pressing me down. I go, albeit reluctantly. "They can stare all they want. If they can't handle it, that's their problem. I, for one, am going to make sure my little brother gets the rest he needs."

When I abruptly squeeze my eyes shut, and roll over to bury my face in his side, I know he's concerned. My voice is muffled when I speak, "It's not going to be the same…Without you there, I mean."

I sense him uncrossing his ankles and returning his feet to the floor with a slight frown. "Ed?" he asks, leaning over me and placing a warm hand on my forehead.

"In Narnia," I clarify quietly.

He utters a soft "ah," before I feel him gently brush my chin with his fingers, redirecting my gaze up to his. He smiles when I open my eyes. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

I snort faintly. "Maybe. But I never really…realized how much I relied on you being there…"

_Oh, Aslan, this is awkward._

"We've neither of us been so far from each other before. I mean, yes, there was Tashbaan when you were off fighting the Giants in the North, and I've been in Archenland while you were at Cair, but--"

He cuts me off with a slightly thick chuckle. "In other words, you're going to miss me."

"Like the other half of my soul, Peter."

As soon as those words leave my mouth, I blanch, feeling heat creep up on my cheeks. "I mean…!"

_By the Lion…did I actually __**say**__ that?! Not that it isn't true, but still…!_

"Ed?"

I can hear Peter's breathing hitch.

_Oh…oh, bother. Now I __**have**__ to say something._

Barely biting back a groan, I respond, "You heard me."

It's why I was so terrified during the single combat, and why I had been so _certain_ that he was dead when I woke from my nightmare. It's why he was the only one who could snap me out of it and why I had gone to Lu hours before anything else, and told her my suspicions about Miraz's "honor"—making it clear that I didn't expect to live through the day, if that were the case.

In hindsight, I really shouldn't have told her something like that. She knew it, of course; I'd told her something almost exactly similar each time I rode into battle at Peter's side, but to make her promise not to tell anyone, and especially not Peter…

I would have broken more than my brother's heart, if that came to pass.

I grimace and shut my eyes. _I'll really need to apologize in that letter, I think._

Which means Susan will know, and if Susan knows…

_She'll tell Peter!_

Really not a good idea. Peter has the worst sort of guilt complex. He might be getting better, but if he finds out I've gone into battle each time with him expecting to _die_…he'll kill himself over it, and he's already feeling guilty enough as it _is_.

_Oh, hang it all…why do I have to love him so much?_

I take in a deep breath and open my eyes to gaze up at him. He looks completely stunned.

Immediately, I blush and avert my eyes.

_Bother. I don't think there's a way out of this. I have to explain…and he deserves to hear it from me. I probably should have told him in the first place, really._

With a sigh, I finally speak up, rubbing at my neck, "Pete, listen…I-I've never before really seen myself as anything other than a judge or…or a protector. You've always taken such _risks_, because you were always so _noble_ and so _brave_ and I…I mean, yes, I protected the girls, probably almost as fiercely as I protected you, but…but…"

_All heroes fall. And I don't want to lose you._

I swallow a few times, trying to force back the steadily rising lump in my throat. I've never told him anything like this before…and it's so _difficult_. It feels like I'm saying good-bye…and I hate that. This is an entirely new meaning of "letting go," and I know it will be just as hard to do this as it was to leave him behind, wounded, on a battlefield during a charge, or to retreat without him, when the safety and well-being of our subjects was far more important than the life of Narnia's High King.

At least this time I'll know he's alive.

But it still _feels_ like a jagged dagger is being shoved into my heart and then brutally twisted, before being yanked out. Repeatedly.

"Edmund?" my brother's voice is tight.

I clench my eyes shut. "Pete?"

When Peter's hand suddenly curls around my neck, I snap my eyes open to find him directly above me, his own eyes brimming with tears.

He's crying.

"Sorry," I whisper, brushing at a few which have started to trickle down his cheeks.

He just shakes his head, several more tears slipping down to join the ones that have already fallen, and leans down to press his face into my hair. It is several minutes before he even begins to speak, voice thick and muffled, "You really _have_ always had my back, haven't you? And I…" His voice cracks. I wince. "Oh, Aslan, Ed, what have I done to deserve you?"

My breath catches in my throat, and I slip my hand up to cradle his neck. How can he even _ask _something like that? Hearing him say it…it _hurts_.

_Peter, you __**idiot**__…_

There is only one thing I can think to say, if I can even manage it: lifting his head away from my neck, gently grasping his chin and looking him straight in the eye, I reply, as firmly as I can, "You have loved me."

_Is it any wonder, then, that I love you?_

_The End_


End file.
